


Boost

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gentle Kissing, Hand Jobs, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, John is Not Amused, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, One Shot, Self Confidence Issues, Sherlock is a snoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: It was terrible. What had happened? Why had he had such a run of bad luck recently? His confidence was all but lost. It seemed like every woman he had dated in the last few weeks had fled from him after the first date. Why? What was it? What had put them off? Did he smell bad? Was it the bags under his eyes? Was it perhaps his flirtatious approach, was he coming on too strong?“Hmm? What's that?” John asked, bending closer to the mirror as if he were inclining towards a woman in a noisy pub. “Oh, yeah I'm John. And you are?… Lucy, that's a lovely name!”“I’d say it was rather ordinary, but that’s me.” Sherlock’s rumbling, amused voice murmured from behind him





	Boost

After another failed date, the fourth one in two weeks, John stepped into his bedroom, closed the door and then walked to the curtains to close them tightly with a grimace of unease. Despite the height of his bedroom, he still felt exposed with them open like that. Flicking on the light, John ran his hands through his hair with a deep, chest-emptying sigh and cleared his throat in slight embarrassment, strolling awkwardly to the full length mirror in the corner of his room. 

He had to do this. As stupid as it might be, or might make him feel, he needed to do and try something. Something was wrong, was off, and he needed to see what it was and correct it. Shape how he stood, how he looked, how he smiled, how he spoke.

Peering at his own cringing face, at his so-called ‘dating outfit,’ John gathered what confidence he had, looked at himself in the mirror, and held out his hand with a plastered on smile, “Hi, I'm John, John Watson. You look lovely tonight.”

Horrible. Pathetic. What sort of smile even was that?

Dropping his head down, John groaned and cleared his throat once more, trying again, “Hi!” he said more forcefully and higher pitched, bringing as much cheer as he could to the tone. “Yeah, lovely to see you! You look beautiful. Can I get you a drink?”

Even worse. God, what was wrong with him? Why did he look so demented? No wonder women weren’t interested. He was lucky they hadn’t run screaming to the police. He looked like a serial killer, and he would know.

It was terrible. What had happened? Why had he had such a run of bad luck recently? His confidence was all but lost. It seemed like every woman he had dated in the last few weeks had fled from him after the first date. Why? What was it? What had put them off? Did he smell bad? Was it the bags under his eyes? Was it perhaps his flirtatious approach, was he coming on too strong?

“Hmm? What's that?” John asked, bending closer to the mirror as if he were inclining towards a woman in a noisy pub. “Oh, yeah I'm John. And you are?… Lucy, that's a lovely name!”

“I’d say it was rather ordinary, but that’s me.” Sherlock’s rumbling, amused voice murmured from behind him, making John jump in both surprise and embarrassment. How had he not heard the door open? He turned to where the bedroom door was now, indeed, slightly open, exposing the smirking detective on the other side. “Though John is just as mundane so perhaps you and Lucy will go far?”

With a humiliated surge of heat up his face, John almost tripped in his haste to step away from the mirror. Flustered he ran hands through his hair and coughed, glaring, “It's not – I wasn't… That there. What you just saw. It… it wasn't…” he said, rambling like an idiot, before clicking his mouth closed.

Sherlock stepped in, uninvited, with a nod and a hum, glancing him over with a small frown, still smirking, “I suppose this is the moment I indulge and reassure you and tell you that you’re overreacting and you’re great with women? – People who have lost confidence need a boost, yes? Need to be coddled and cooed at?” he teased as he closed the distance between them.

“Piss off,” John grumbled, turning away from Sherlock in mortification. “It's hard you know! Trying to find a connection with someone. It's really difficult…”

“You have a connection with me?” Sherlock replied as he stepped up beside John and looked at John’s face via the mirror.

“Well…yeah,” John frowned, looking at Sherlock through the mirror too, somehow finding it less invasive that way. “But… It's not the same. What we have and what I want are two different things—What I want with people, I mean…”

Sherlock tilted his head with searching interest, “Is this about sex?”

“What?” John blinked quickly, scowling at the man’s piercing gaze and shaking his head. “No! No… yes… a little bit…”

“Hm. Is it really worth all this hassle? Just to have sex with a boring woman called Lucy?” Sherlock asked him with honest curiosity. His tone was still somewhat scoffing but he seemed strangely intrigued with what the answer would be. 

“Have you ever had sex?” John asked in retort, being harsher and angrier than he had intended to be. “Because if you had, then you'd know that yes, it's worth the hassle. It's – nice. Sex is great and yes, I want to have sex. I like sex. Women and sex. Love them. Both together preferably.”

Sherlock looked away with a twist of his mouth, evidently not happy about the snappishness, “I’m sure there are women out there that don’t need to be ‘wooed’ by your ridiculous charms to have sex with you. Find them if you want sex so badly. – I fail to understand why people don’t just find others that want the same thing and get on with it.”

“Prostitutes?” John asked immediately, frowning at the thought. “I don't want to pay for sex. I want someone to want me, not be paid to do it. That’s just…no. I don’t want that. That’s not the solution, Sherlock. Grabbing a bloody prostitute from the street for a quickie.”

“I was thinking more about proud self-proclaimed nymphomaniacs actually,” Sherlock told him with a glance back into the mirror at his reflection. “There are people who love to have sex. Women, men, whomever. They crave it, enjoy it, and actively look for it. I’m sure there’s a website where you can meet your own local nympho to hook up with.” 

“Oh. Well, that’s just as bad, Sherlock. I don’t just want sex for the sex itself and nothing else. Sex is great, yes, and there have been times in the past where I’d not pass up a good thing, but it’s…things are different now,” John mumbled, giving a shrug. “I don't know. I just – I want something else. I want support and love and sex all rolled up into one. I want friendship, being able to sit around watching crap telly at 3am in our underwear, and I want to tumble into bed for either passionate sex or just a cuddle. I want – ahh it doesn't matter.” He was rambling. Why did he always have to ramble? 

After a moment Sherlock sighed sharply, “There’s nothing wrong with you or your flirting techniques - There,” he said, one of his pale hands awkwardly coming to rest on John’s shoulder. “If you are truly so unhappy…I…I’ll…take a step back for a bit. No promises, of course, but I can at least try and be out of the way for at a day or three. That’ll give you ample time to get past the first date, I’m sure – They leave because of me most of the time, after all. Not you. Me.”

“No, no, it's fine,” John said, reaching up and touching Sherlock's hand, finding the warmness of his skin, the smoothness of his fingers, suddenly and intensely calming. “Most of the time I've fucked something up before you've even turned up. I either talk about you too much, or I constantly check my phone for messages from you. It's like… almost like I sabotage myself, because that’s one of the most frequent peeves they have about me. How much I talk about you and spend time with you. They hate it. Yet I just…it’s as if I can’t help it. You’re the most significant and regular and amazing thing that happens to me. Before you there was nothing. What do they expect me to say? List what I had for tea? Talk about all the shuffling old folks and the coughing babies I see at work?”

There was a small bout of silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, and then Sherlock turned John around by the shoulder, “I’m going to test something, all right? Don’t hit me or shout at me. – Normally I don’t tell you. Now I am. So you can’t be angry with me.”

“Er… okay?” John frowned, looking up at Sherlock puzzled and very slightly suspicious.

Sherlock adjusted his posture with a shift of his weight, grimaced briefly, and then leaned towards John to unexpectedly kiss him. It was a warm chaste kiss on the lips, the type of kiss that tested boundaries, that was gentle and questioning, and Sherlock pulled back seconds after he’d bestowed it. He looked everywhere but at John before taking a breath and looking at John’s expression with a tensed jaw, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to read what he saw there. John wished him luck, but he, himself, had no idea what he was thinking or feeling in the moments that passed afterwards.

He felt his eyelashes flutter as he tried to comprehend what had just occurred between, what it meant, if it meant anything at all, and John touched his lips with the tips of his fingers in utter shock, “You kissed me,” he mumbled, staring at Sherlock in bewilderment. “You kissed me?”

“Yes, well done,” Sherlock huffed with a roll of his eyes, pressing his arms to his sides, stiff and tense. “Did…you like it?”

“…I don't know,” John admitted, strangely calm and even relieved. How was he relieved? What about? Licking his lips slightly, John cocked his head aside. “Do it again?” Wait, what? Where had that come from?

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows in similar disbelief, gesturing vaguely with one hand with no true intention to explain what it meant, “Again? You want—All right. Yes. Sure,” he said with a quick nod, clearing his throat, altering his posture again and leaning in to kiss John on the mouth once more. He pulled back just as quickly as he had done before and folded his arms in sudden show of self-consciousness, arching one eyebrow. “Well?”

“Yeah. It was -ahem- good. Yeah,” John nodded, trying to latch onto the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions he was feeling. What was happening? Looking away from Sherlock he found his mouth running on without him. “Do you want to try it with tongues? Or was that just a test for…something? What was it for? Why kiss me? First we were talking about—Just…explain?”

“You liked it then? Properly too, not just…” Sherlock trailed off as he rotated one of his hands loosely and then huffed, blowing up his fringe. “Did you get any sort of gratification out of it, at all?”

“Did you mean a stiffy?” John asked, glancing down at his crotch just in case. “No… No I'm not erect. Well – not really—Wait, what’s going on?”

Sherlock frowned at him, just as puzzled with the turn of events, “Do you always get erect when you kiss someone? – Perhaps that’s why your dates haven’t been working out so well…”

“Well, no, not always. It depends,” John said in a low mumble, then frowned, shaking his head and taking a step back. “Can we just—Why did you kiss me? Was this a trick? An experiment? Of what? Why? Why did you kiss me? – And I don't want to talk about my erection, leave that out of the discussion for now. No…penis talk…”

“I wasn’t the one to bring up your non-existent erection, John, that was you. You did that,” Sherlock grumbled with a flush and a scowl. “Look, did you feel anything or not? If you don’t like me in ‘that way’ then we can just…forget this ever happened. I’ll leave you with your stupid confidence crisis and we can just--”

“Wait… wait,” John exclaimed, cutting Sherlock off with both his words and the hand he put against Sherlock's chest. “Do you? – Like me 'that way'?”

After being caught off guard and gawking at John’s hand in a rather adorable sort of way, Sherlock swatted it off sullenly, “I might.”

“Oh. Oh right, well… well then you should kiss me again and let me double check. – Because I think I do… like you ‘that way’ but I can’t be completely sure. Not until you kiss me again just to make sure,” John said lowly, replacing his hand on Sherlock's chest warmly. Was this really happening?

Sherlock swallowed thickly, looking between John’s eyes, “Third times a charm, you mean?” he said with a gentle huff of awkward laughter. “Yes. Yes, fine, I’ll…do it again—But remember that you asked for this. You…you said.” He exhaled through his nose and bent his head to slot their lips together again, lingering a little longer than the last few times with a look of almost timid cautiousness.

John looked at his face up close for a second or two, enjoying the sensation of Sherlock’s hot breath on his tingling lips, and then clenched a fist into Sherlock's shirt, holding it tightly as he tilted his head to kiss him back, licking across the seam of Sherlock's lips when they trembled. Sherlock yielded to him sensually, swaying in an inch closer to press his nose alongside John’s own. It was suddenly bliss. Pure, scorching, bliss. John felt it echo through him as he inhaled the familiar scent of Sherlock and tasted the unfamiliar. God, he had been such an idiot. 

With a rough huffing exhale, he pulled away, just about panting, “Yeah… yeah I think that cleared things up. Quite a lot of things, actually…”

“Yes? Good,” Sherlock breathed, nodding softly and brushing his fringe against John’s brow in the process. “Great. Just…perfect.”

“So...” John smiled, raising an eyebrow and feeling abruptly several years younger. Something that often happened around Sherlock. “Do I don’t need to woo you then? Because y'know… Sherlock is a very pretty name.”

Sherlock blinked and then smiled slowly and broadly, leaning back, “Oh, you think so?” he asked with a snort of delight. 

“Oh definitely,” John grinned, feeling the bubbling of laughter filling his chest. “And oh… did that hurt?”

“…Did what hurt?” Sherlock asked with a small frown, looking himself over. “I haven’t hurt myself. And kissing isn’t exactly a harmful act to—”

“When you fell from heaven?” John purred, bursting into giggles seconds later. God if felt good to laugh, to be happy. He’d been such an idiot!

Sherlock looked at him with a look of vague amusement, “Are you saying I’m some sort of fallen Angel?”

“How else could you get a body that fine?” John asked, lifting his eyebrows playfully.

Sherlock snorted, “…Is this what you say? – Perhaps you were right to have confidence issues and practice in front of a mirror if it is. This rubbish and the genital problems aren’t ideal--” 

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d make it so that U&I were together,” John continued, adding a cheeky seductive wink. Sherlock rolled his eyes and John pursed his lips in response. “Oh come on, admit it. The old ones are the best. No matter how cheesy.”

Sherlock glanced at John’s mouth, barely paying attention to what he was saying by the looks of things, “Sure,” he mumbled with a shrug. “The best. If you say so.”

“Hm. So...” John said, suddenly serious from the expression on the detective’s face. It was a strange look. John wasn’t sure he’d seen one like it and he couldn’t help the surge of smug pride at being the one to bring it forth. “This er… kissing thing. What does it mean for us? Do you want it to be uh… more?”

There was a short hesitation, something John normally wouldn’t have noticed, but as it was from Sherlock, he felt it in his bones, “Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed you,” Sherlock told him with an irritated sigh, ignorant of the fact that the arch of his cheekbones were tinged pink. “We were just talking about… sex. About what you want and need. About what’s missing…”

“So you want all of that?” John answered with a waver, nervous and excited all at once. Why was life so confusing? “Because I know you don't do sex – Or haven't as far as I know – and I want you to know that I respect that. We don't have to rush into anything...”

Sherlock inclined his head, “It’s worth the hassle, you said,” he murmured and reached to take John’s hand in his. He was cringing and blushing, but his jaw was set in determination and his eyes were glimmering resolutely. 

“Yeah, I suppose I did,” John said lowly with a smile. “I've rather built myself up now too, haven’t I? So your expectations are high.”

“True,” Sherlock chuckled; his focus split as he deliberately and very confidently pressed John’s hand into the crotch of his trousers with a twitch of one eyebrow. John had not expected such a move and so was unable to stop how violently he twitched in shock, and seeming unsure, Sherlock flickered his eyes over John’s face intently, loosening his hold. Sherlock was hot, half hard and twitching under John’s palm. “Too much…? Too fast? – I wasn’t sure what…”

As Sherlock trailed off into silence, John dropped his wide eyes to the hardness under his fingers. This was not what he had been expecting to happen so soon. Though he’d not expected any of this before it happened, it had never even occurred to him that this could be a reality with them. John stared, frozen to the spot, head only filled with how he’d affected Sherlock, how he now felt cradled in his touch. There was that smug pride again. He had done this. From only a few kisses, Sherlock was stiffening in an interest John had never truly seen from his friend. It made John’s skin prickle, made his blood rush and his head spin. This was devilishly heady. 

With a blinding spike of arousal, John curled his fingers around Sherlock's shaft, stroking him through his trousers and pants with a tenderness and care that he hadn't anticipated. As Sherlock swallowed and pushed his hips out in reaction, John leaned up to kiss him again, only this time he dipped inside the man’s mouth, caressing Sherlock's tongue with his own and was ecstatic when Sherlock submitted to the kiss with a shaky, rough breath and a small, barely audible grunt. Christ the sound was enough to send John’s eyes rolling back. Sherlock’s own eyes drifted closed and his long, pale, shaking, eager fingers drifted up John’s arm to clutch at and then smooth over his shoulder. When he stroked at John’s pulse point for a minute, coy and cautious, and then moved his touch down John’s chest to cup John’s genitals as well, John had to pull back.

“Maybe… we should we move this to the bed?” John asked, incapable to stop himself from kissing along Sherlock's jawline. The man tasted and smelt gorgeous. “This may not be the most stable of positions. – Plus, I’d …really like to see you naked.” And wasn’t that something he didn’t think he’d ever say to his best friend, but God was it true. When had he wanted that? Had he always?

“Mm. Yes. Yes I—Oh! Naked. Right. Yes,” Sherlock said after he’d blinked from his stupor, and he stepped away with a deep inhalation to begin to quickly undress, starting with his shirt first, and then moving on to his trousers. He was a bit clumsy, shaking with blatant arousal, but he was still quite speedy and was standing in his snug, tented underwear in a matter of moments. 

Shaking himself out of his own stupor, John moved to Sherlock's side, running a hand down the dip of his back, “Don’t be nervous, it's okay,” he smiled, wondering if he was saying it for Sherlock’s benefit or his own. He gave into temptation and kissed between Sherlock's shoulders before turning to undress down to his pants himself. He was shaking and hot, already sweating with anticipation, and his cock was pushing hard and proud against the flimsy cotton of his underwear. Now he was definitely erect. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, tapping the space beside him for Sherlock. “Come here…”

Sherlock dithered for just a second and then strolled over to sit down next to him, “Are we…going to have sex or just do some ‘heavy petting?’”

John’s cheeks ached as his smile widened and he chuckled, pressing an instinctive kiss to Sherlock's naked shoulder, finding the smattering of faint freckles there hugely appealing, “Whatever you want. I think starting at the bottom is a good idea...” He blinked quickly and lifted his hands, shaking his head. “I don't mean your bottom. I just mean of the acts. You know, the bottom…so like… kissing and touching…the, uh, the basics. – I don't think there should be penetration yet is what I'm saying…Christ…”

Sherlock smirked and nodded, “Yes. Agreed,” he said, shuffling a few inches closer to be pressed to John’s side, the short, fine hairs of their thighs tickling as they intermingled. “Kissing and touching is fine.”

Automatically, with Sherlock so close, so pliant and welcoming, John lifted a hand to run through Sherlock's curls, becoming quickly obsessed with the way they coiled around his fingers with every movement, “I've always wanted to do that,” he admitted in a whisper and sudden realisation, and leaned in for a tender kiss. “And that...”

“‘Always?’” Sherlock echoed with a sigh and a small smile, nuzzling into the kiss and putting one hand on John’s thigh.

“Well…okay, maybe not always, but…I do remember thinking it at Angelo's,” John confessed with a blush and a cough, recalling how he’d be both amused and mesmerised by the amount of curls on the man’s head. “But we're here now, and that's all that matters…right?” He skimmed his thumb under Sherlock's ear, gently pressing at the attached lobe.

Sherlock moved in to have their foreheads together, “Yes,” he mumbled gently with another smile, stroking John’s knee.

John shuffled back onto the bed, pulling Sherlock with him so they could lie flat on the mattress, the pillows under their heads just as John turned to kiss Sherlock without thought, deepening it almost immediately whilst he moved one hand up and down Sherlock's abdomen and chest, following the blotchy patches of arousal. It was safe and glorious, the feeling of Sherlock’s stomach muscles jumping and flexing with each caress, intoxicating. Was it too fast? It didn’t feel it. It felt right. Felt like it had always been waiting in the wings. John felt alive. Trust Sherlock to fix yet another problem in his life by inserting himself into the space, giving him another purpose, and giving him something, giving him everything. 

While Sherlock submitted to John again, allowing the kiss to turn slow and passionate, one of Sherlock’s hands strayed down to tightly cup himself as the other hand moved up to stroke and rub against John’s bare chest and puckering nipples, “You’re quite good at that, you know,” he said against John’s lips between brief pauses, shuddering and writhing. “Kissing.”

“Thank you,” John mumbled lowly into his mouth, thumbing across Sherlock's erect nipple. The gorgeous lanky man gasped quietly and jolted, and John moved closer in an overwhelming bombardment of eagerness. “You're not terrible yourself… think we should do this more often actually.”

“Mm. I concur,” Sherlock rumbled with a wide grin, following the lines of John’s pectorals and then examining the scar on his shoulder with small, rolling touches. He was fascinated and gentle.

“I don't really feel much there,” John told him, giving a brief shrug. “But my nipple underneath is incredibly sensitive due to the injury. I don't mind it being touched occasionally, though it can be a bit much after a while. Just a warning…”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and brushed his palm over the nipple fleetingly, “Noted,” he said with a husky tone, bringing his hand down over John’s stomach to walk the bump and curve of his ribs and muscles with his fingers.

Basking in Sherlock’s inquisitive touches, John buried his head into the juncture of Sherlock's neck and shoulder, kissing and licking the skin there before sucking a mark into his throat. The blotch was low enough that it would be covered by his shirt collar, but John felt his cock twitch with a dominant throb knowing that Sherlock had been marked by him. He felt so privileged to be able to do it. Was he the first? Had Sherlock had someone do this to him before? Had someone suckle on his ridiculously beautiful throat before?

Cupping and then cradling John’s head with one hand, Sherlock nuzzled against him and shuddered, “I liked that,” he whispered, urging John just a bit closer.

“I can do it again?” John suggested, happy to do it. Eager to do it. “I'll do it all night if you want… but you'll end up looking like one of those people on Jeremy Kyle if we’re not careful. The ones you always scoff at – Do you want me to keep them where they can be hidden?”

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock said, kissing John’s cheek and earlobe. “I’m very content to them being either visible and not so. I like the thought of them being a secret, one that no one knows about, but I also wouldn’t mind people knowing I belong to you. Like a brand. Like a statement…” He sounded breathless and wanton, clearly finding his own words, his own thoughts, on the matter arousing.

“Oh God…” John breathed in a rush, feeling his cock throb hard in reaction. He sucked on Sherlock's neck again and again and again, hard and lustful, still keeping below the collar, the collections of marks on the normally marble white skin a dark red and purple colour. Panting, John touched each blemish in turn, shaking with need and crazy with longing. “Fucking Christ, you're incredibly sexy, do you know that?” John rubbed his fingers down Sherlock's stomach, nipping at the man’s chin as he nudged Sherlock’s hand aside and cupped and stroked the slightly damp fabric of Sherlock's underwear, teasing the hot, hard length inside.

Sherlock’s hips twitched abruptly and he hissed, pushing John’s hand away with an awkward wince and a dark blush, “It’s not that I don’t want you to,” he quickly explained, gripping at himself tighter. “I’m just…on edge.”

“Oh, right,” John said, feeling the flutter of heat bursting through his veins increase ten fold by the admission, at being the reason Sherlock was close to popping off in his pants. “Well…you could – touch me if you want? Until you cool down I mean?”

“Yes. I am. I am touching you,” Sherlock told him, stroking John’s nape and then skimming his fingertips down his side to make his point. “But…uh…even that is quite…stimulating.” 

“Can you come again after you've come once?” John asked, practically willing to hump against Sherlock's leg in desperation. “Or is it a one-time deal? – I mean, wait, I know that…it…it’s not like when we were teenagers but…?”

Sherlock blushed and cringed, “I…wouldn’t know exactly. I don’t often do anything like this so I’m unsure of the length of my refractory period…” 

“Hm…I suppose the best way to find out is through experimentation,” John whispered, nipping Sherlock's chin again as he shoved a hand past the waistband of his underwear and wrapped his hand around the hard, silky shaft within, which twitched and bumped into John’s palm. Sherlock was leaking a lot in his heightened state of arousal, wetting John's fingers as he moved the foreskin across and over Sherlock's tip, and gave a few long, slow pumps of his hand. He pulled back to look at Sherlock's face, watching his expressions, finding it utterly fascinating and wholly erotic.

Sherlock was getting rapidly red in the face second by second, straining and moving to grab hold of John’s wrist and the edge of the mattress beneath him in a firm grip. He seemed to be holding his breath, looking off into the distance in concentration, and his erection thickened with a pulse of warning in John’s grasp as his thighs trembled. He hadn’t been joking. He was close already, almost seconds away from coming undone under John’s hand and before John’s eyes.

“It's okay,” John moaned, kissing Sherlock softly and nosing across his cheek. “It's okay, you can come. Show me, Sherlock.” He rutted his erection against Sherlock's upper thigh, over zealous and impatient. He wanted so much at once he could barely think.

“Isn’t…that bad?” Sherlock asked through clenched teeth, his erection oozing more warm pre-ejaculate. “We just…started and I…I’m already…” 

“I think it's incredibly sexy,” John disclosed with what felt like a mottled blush covering his head, neck and torso. “I – I like that. I like that you're so close and so sensitive. The thought that you're so aroused that you're going to come prematurely is…making me…is bringing me… close too. Don't hold back, let me hear you…God I want to hear you.”

Sherlock’s ears bloomed rosy as he wheezed through his nose and he glanced at John, peering up at him through a hazy gaze, “It’s because of you, you know,” he said under his breath throatily, his eyelids fluttering when he lifted his hips and shamelessly pushed his penis into John’s hand in a series of small thrusts, keeping their eyes locked. “I…I’m highly aroused by…by you John. You’re so…s-so…”

“Yeah?” John asked breathily, rolling his hips in time with his strokes to Sherlock's taut cock. John's own pants were soaked through with pre-ejaculate, almost see through, and each thrust left a slick trail against Sherlock's skin, matting the soft hair on his thigh. “I'm very aroused by you too. Sometimes I…I used to – I used to touch myself, thinking about you.”

“Oh!” Sherlock gasped and his eyes rolled up slightly as his abdominal muscles tensed and his hips snapped up in a fervent, knowing shudder. With a huff through his nose and a dazed blink, he then arched his head back with a low, loud growling groan and his cock hardened with a hard, thick, jolt and pulsed suddenly with hot, rough spurts of ejaculate. It coated John’s fingers, soaked into Sherlock’s underwear and arced up his juddering stomach, spilling copiously. Was this what he looked like? John was sure to get addicted.

“Oh Jesus… Oh fuck,” John chanted, sitting up slightly so he could watch Sherlock's orgasm fully. The detective thrown back head only showed off the love-bites more prominently and John continued to stroke Sherlock through his climax, only stopping when the younger man shivered with oversensitivity. “I don't think it'll take much for me to join you-- You are one sexy bastard…”

Laughing breathlessly as he panted, Sherlock beamed at him with crinkled eyes and reached one shaking arm towards him, “Let me…touch you,” he got out.

“Okay, but unless you want me to come immediately, you're not allowed to look at me, breath on me or in any other way stimulate me,” John chuckled, letting go of Sherlock and wiping his slicked hand on the bed, giving Sherlock a brief peck on the lips. “Otherwise, help yourself.”

Slipping his quivering fingers into John’s briefs, he touched, stroked and then gripped the hard, moist skin of John’s erection, “Nice handful,” he commented with another laugh.

The comment was barely registered as John focused and shivered at the feel of Sherlock’s hand on him. He moaned, long and loud, arching his back and rocking his hips, and reached to pull Sherlock in for a sloppy kiss, “Your hands are amazing…have I ever told you that before? Fucking fantastic!”

“I know you like them, yes,” Sherlock mumbled against his lips, leaving warm, tender pecks across John’s mouth and down his chin as he began a slow, teasing, squeezing rhythm. The sensation was perfection.

“I do. I like them a lot,” John groaned, his hand moving up to thumb across his own nipple with a deep sigh. “They're always in my sights, in my… dreams…my fantasies.”

“Oh yes? Doing what?” Sherlock asked as he nuzzled the hinge of John’s jaw and continued to stroke him, finding just the right amount of pressure and speed. “What was I doing with my hands, John?”

“Sh-shut up. Don’t speak…like that. J-just stroking me,” John replied, bringing his feet together on the mattress so he could thrust up into Sherlock's fist. He heaved and sighed, overheating, and found that more words were building in his throat no matter how hard he tried to keep them back. “Fuck. I – they – sometimes I wanted to suck on them. A little. – I imagined it. Imagined you sucking me down deep while I…I…God I wanted to suck your fingers…” He grit his teeth with a click, blushing deep in shame. He hadn’t meant to say any of that.

Sherlock blinked at him, studying his face for a long few minutes, and then lifted his other hand, first stroking his cheek and jaw and then rubbing his fingertips against John’s lips, “Open up then.”

“Seriously?” John asked, worried that perhaps Sherlock was teasing him, but he opened his mouth anyway, only a small amount at first and then wider, letting his tongue loll slightly. It was embarrassing how eager he was.

Provocatively, Sherlock eased two of his fingers into John’s mouth, stroking along his tongue as he went, “The harder you suck my fingers, then the harder and faster I stroke you…” 

“Oh fuck,” John groaned around Sherlock's fingers, clenching his eyes shut as his dick gave a hard throb of forewarning. Fighting against the urge to allow his orgasm to take him over, John began to gently suckle on Sherlock's fingers, tasting his skin and enjoying the unusual sensation, which he had dreamt about for years but never thought he’d really want to experience. It didn't take long before John was adding more suction, attempting to take more of Sherlock's fingers into his mouth as he sucked, licked and slurped inelegantly. He was so needy for pleasure, for Sherlock’s hand, his fingers, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d been so needy before. Definitely not to this extent. His cock twitched, leaking precome across Sherlock's hand, and he felt the moment his testicles drew closer to his body in anticipation.

Sherlock wriggled his fingers them against John’s teeth with a grin, nosing at his jawline and throat, and adjusted his grasp on John’s shaft in reaction to each amount of suction to his fingers. John was barely aware of the noises he was making now as he rocked his hips, clenching his toes in the mattress once he got closer and closer to his peak. He could feel it tightening and coiling in his pelvis and between his legs, feel the fixing fissures of pleasure shooting out in all directions at each drag of wet skin.

“Close,” he moaned, getting saliva on his own chin, words slightly garbled around Sherlock’s digits. He bucked his hips harder. “Sherlock… Sherlock I'm close.”

“Come on then. You saw me…I want to see you. - Don't hold back, let me hear you,” he whispered into John’s ear before pulling back and peering at him with interest. His eyes were glimmering. Were vortexes of colour. Were stars. Were mischievous beacons.

John bucked once, twice, and then sucked hard on Sherlock's fingers as he came. White stars burst over his vision as his cock jerked, pulsated and erupted with long streams of come, soaking his pants. Shaking dramatically, John moved one clumsy hand to wrap around Sherlock's wrist, holding him steady whilst the shudders continued. It was intense and ground shaking, and it was gone way too soon, leaving John drained and almost mournful.

Giving a final lick to Sherlock's fingers, John turned his head so they fell from his mouth and shifted to nuzzle against Sherlock's neck, “…Can’t… words…”

Sherlock leaned into him and gently released John’s penis, stroking at the skin of his pelvis fleetingly, rubbing the mess he found there into John’s hot skin, “Glad to know you’re back to your usual self then,” he teased.

Moving slowly, John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and muttered something purely gibberish into the man’s neck with a deep chuckle, relaxing into the heat and smell of his friend, his lover, his world, “Was good. Very good. More good than I imagined.”

“More good, hm?” Sherlock snorted gently, gathering John close, completely unbothered with the mess on either one of them or how it sounded squishing between them.

“Mmm more good,” John grinned into Sherlock's neck. “Shh. First orgasm in ages that wasn't done by me and my hand. I'm enjoying the afterglow. Let me enjoy it. With you.”

“…Should we…do more of this then? Make a schedule perhaps? Or would it just be whenever we’re in the mood?” Sherlock asked casually, drawing patterns across John’s back, along his ribs, and against the scar on his shoulder.

“Tomorrow,” John mumbled in a sigh, kissing Sherlock's cheek. “When we wake up. Then maybe through the day. And before bed. If you want to share my bed? Or I'll stay in yours – if you want to share that is?” He hid himself with a roll of his eyes. Why must he always ramble?

“We’d have to take turns then? Sleeping in each other’s bed,” Sherlock said, seeming happy with the arrangement and slumping up against him.

“Your bed is probably nicer than mine. But you're welcome here whenever you like,” John said, curling himself around Sherlock's side, perfectly content to sleep smeared in their mixed essence. 

“My bed is definitely ‘nicer,’” Sherlock said with a soft sigh. “I suppose you’re welcome to it – whenever I say so.”

“Git,” John chuckled, stroking down Sherlock's slick and tacky belly. “Hopefully you'll sleep frequently if we indulge in this stuff more often. Do you – are you open to doing this often?”

“Very open – Though I can’t promise it’ll be exactly regular. Even if we do set a schedule. There are times I’d not want the distraction. Obviously,” Sherlock told him as his skin rose in goose bumps in wake of John’s touch.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Obviously.’ I gathered as much. I'm happy to keep myself ‘occupied’ when you’re not in the mood,” John laughed, smelling behind Sherlock's ear and instantly loving the natural scent of him. “I'm a bit of a professional when it comes to wanking as it goes. Especially over the past few weeks. Which you must have noticed – Maybe you could… could just kiss me whilst I do it? You wouldn't have to join in, just a kiss?”

Sherlock hummed one of his noncommittal hums, “Perhaps. We’ll see,” he replied, nuzzling him back. “It might be too much of a distraction…”

“Yeah. Pity, that. I hate distracting you,” John smirked, smooching and breathing against Sherlock’s hairline for a moment, and then moving back to yawn and scratch at the drying ejaculate on his stomach. It was gross. They needed to wash. “Shall we phone for pizza? And we could eat… in bed? We don't have to leave for anything tonight and…you’re here and…I’m here…and we’re lazy and satisfied, so, why not?”

“You’re tired,” Sherlock chuckled with a small scoff. “And I’m not really that hungry.”

“Fine. How about we have a nap then? Yeah? A nice…cuddle…and a nap, and then we can shower and sort food later,” John uttered, glancing down at their mess. “Although, I do hate the feeling of this…not the most pleasant so…” He rolled and stretched for the box of tissues that he kept at the bedside for just such an occasion, and wiped them both down as much as he could be bothered. Chucking the scrunched up tissues on the beside table, John the got back into place against Sherlock’s warm body. “That’ll do.”

Sherlock squirmed to get one of his legs over John, entwining him within long arms and pressing his plump, kiss-swollen lips to his brow. From that alone, John’s heart seemed fit to burst, “Fine. Nap, shower and food sounds good to me, John.”

**Author's Note:**

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